


See Me After Class

by blackrabbit42



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Homophobic Language, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-19
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-12-31 11:50:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12131871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackrabbit42/pseuds/blackrabbit42
Summary: Jensen sees the note fall out of Jared's pocket, and doesn't say anything.





	See Me After Class

**Author's Note:**

> Note- this story contains homophobic language and mention of non-con and statutory rape. No actual non-con or statutory rape occur in the story.
> 
> Much appreciation for Dancing_Adrift for the beta, once and again after all this time. <3

Jensen already took two Xanax before class, so he really shouldn’t take another one this soon.  Deep breathing is not helping though, so he knows the right thing to do is to just walk out the classroom door and forget all about that little square of paper he sees on the floor in the back of the room. Jensen had seen it fall out of Jared’s pocket and didn’t say anything.  He wouldn’t have been able to say anything even if he had wanted to, his tongue suddenly thick and clumsy, his throat tight. 

 

Kids drop notes all the time.  Most of the time, he throws them in the trash without even looking at them.  It’s nothing.  Except, this time, he knows he won’t throw it in the trash without looking.  Knows he won’t throw it in the trash at all.  Knows it’s one more step towards a line he knows he shouldn’t cross. 

 

And there’s the thing.  With this kid, he’s thinking about that line _all the time._ During the day, he’s concentrates on avoiding going anywhere near the line.  Refers to the kid as “Mr. Padalecki,” because saying his name, Jared, will remind him how it sounded when it was on his lips the night before, fantasizing about being way, way over the line.  Jared.  Jared. _Jared,_ as he comes into his own guilty hand. 

 

Anyway, it’s probably nothing, right?  Probably just “did you see the game last night?” and “let me copy your algebra homework, I’m grounded if I fail another class.” 

 

Right.  Probably nothing.  So no harm just picking it up.  No harm just peeking at what it says.  In fact, it will be a relief.  A relief to know, so he won’t go home to his empty kitchen and think about it all night.  Right.

 

So he picks it up.  It smells slightly of cigarettes and there’s a black smudge on one corner, probably from the eyeliner Jared occasionally wears.  Jensen is supposed to report dress code violations like that.  He doesn’t

 

It’s gotten to the point where even recognizing Jared’s handwriting gets him going.  That essay Jared wrote on _Heart of Darkness_ that Jensen “lost?”  It’s tucked deep in Jensen’s nightstand drawer.  Not too deep.  Always available in a pinch. 

 

The note in his hand is folded over until the fat thickness of the paper doesn’t allow it to fold any more.  There’s a slight twist to the last fold, as if it was meant to be destroyed, thrown away.  Which is what Jensen should do right now.  Because this is peeping.  Looking in on something of Jared’s that was meant to be private.  Well, private between him and his dickwad friend, Chad. 

 

His fingers tremble as he opens up the folds, pushing back the curtains to see.  Halfway, he stops.  It doesn’t matter what it says inside.  It could be their picks for March Madness, and Jensen’s still going to be a mess, figuratively, and possibly literally.  He steps back and locks the classroom door, then sits at his desk, out of the line of sight afforded by the frosted glass panel in the door.  A bead of sweat runs down the back of his neck. 

 

Seated at his desk, he opens the letter. 

 

**_-If you don’t want her, then what’s the big fucking deal?  Let me have a crack at that ass.  And tits, and sweet, sweet pussy.  It is sweet isn’t it?_ **

_-You are too stupid to be true.  FIRST, I just told you that we’re not doing it, so I wouldn’t know.  SECOND, I just told you that she’s not into dudes. THIRD, even if she was into dudes, you wouldn’t have a chance.  Forget it.  Forget her._

**_-C'mon Jared, you’re with her.  Why not me?  I could pretend to be her boyfriend, and you’d better believe I’d show her a damn good time, unlike your faggot-ass dick._ **

_-You just don—_

But Jensen has to stop reading.  He jams his hand down between his legs, desperate to stave off an embarrassing accident.  There’s a one hundred percent chance that Janitor Roché would intercept him if he tried to leave the campus with a wet stain. Roché wouldn’t say anything, but he’d give Jensen that creepy, knowing look and that wink he does that makes Jensen want to clorox his eyeballs. 

 

So he fumbles the note back into some sort of folded shape and tucks it deep in his briefcase, where it beats like a tell-tale heart for Jensen’s entire commute. 

 

At home in his trim little brownstone, Jensen finds every chore he can possibly think of to distract himself.  He should burn it.  He should definitely burn it.  Soak it in a glass of water and put it down the garbage disposal.  He should definitely not read another solitary word. Maybe he misunderstood.  Maybe Chad was just using the term “faggot-ass dick” figuratively.  That’s the most likely explanation.

 

No way is Jared gay like him.  _No way_.  He’s Captain of the Lacross team.  Has a titsy girlfriend from their sister school across the river.  He’s confident, he’s popular.  He’s everything Jensen is not.  So how can he be gay too?  And also, is the universe really that unfair?  Jensen has been as good as he possibly can.  He’s tried so hard.  Why does he have to be tested like this? 

 

He lasts forty-five minutes before he fishes the letter out of his briefcase, and stands right in the middle of his kitchen, letter in one hand, the other fumbling with the buttons on his trousers.  He holds onto his cock like it’s a lifeline. 

 

_—‘t get it.  She’s a LESBIAN.  She’s not going to date you._

 

**_Then why is she dating you?_ **

_…_

 

**_What?  Why?_ **

_…_

**_Because you’re a fag?  That doesn’t make sense._ **

_Oh my god.  You’re an asshole and a moron. She doesn’t want anyone to know she’s a les, and I don’t want anyone to know I’m gay.  What is so hard about this???_

**_Why don’t you want anyone to know you crave dick?_ **

_Because A) not everyone at this shithole is as understanding and mature as you, and B) no one here I would be into anyway, so what’s the point?_

**_No one?_ **

_Shut up._

_**Come on now, Jared.  You’re a shitty liar.  I see all, I know all.** _

_Shut. The. Fuck. UP._

**_You’re fucking hard for him right now.  I dare you to jerk off under your desk._ **

Jensen closes his eyes, as vertigo washes over him.  Paces.  Pictures Jared, cigarette hanging out of one side of his crooked smile, splayed out in his chair, arm moving lazily, busy at sin Jensen can’t see under the desk. What brings Jensen back from the brink is picturing himself in front of Jared, and then it all goes to shame and embarrassment.  Jared’s lecherous smile turns to a bark of laughter, his hand comes out from beneath the desk, revealing his middle finger turned up.  _Queer._ He sneers.  _Fucking faggot._

 

That’s how it would be. 

 

Because even if Jared is, as impossible as it seems, gay like him, then he’s a different kind of gay.  Sexy.  Confident.  The sort of guy you see in pornos and that girls like to hang around, titillated by their unattainability.  Not like Jensen, fumbling, ashamed.  Jerking off in the middle of his kitchen over a schoolboy’s note. 

 

He’s weak, though.  He keeps reading.

 

_Nah man, I’m rubbing myself raw._

**_Well, maybe if you didn’t come to class every day like a fucking choir boy you wouldn’t need to beat off in the Janitor’s closet every day at 10:45._ **

_Maybe if you_ did _come to class once in a while, you wouldn’t be flunking._

**_You’re so full of shit.  Like you come to this class because you actually care about your grades.  What’s your GPA again?_ **

_Fully double yours, so shut your fucking mouth._

_**I know you’re just here for the view.** _

_So?  Come on, it’s a fucking piece of art, that ass._

This gives Jensen pause.  There are only three boys in the class, Jared and Chad of course, and Osric.  And while Osric is handsome enough in his own way, he’s got the scrawny behind of a kid who spends too much time sitting on it in the library, missing meals because he forgets to eat.  Jensen flirts with the idea of flunking Osric, maybe accusing him of plagiarism or something. 

 

**_So, you’d seriously put your dick in that?_ **

_My dick, my tongue, five fingers, you name it. Hold him down by the neck and fuck him stupid._

Jensen hits his knees, and it only takes two short pulls to make him spill all over his nice hardwood floor.  It’s not enough.  His cock is empty but his balls are still locked up tight, trying to pump out blanks, spasms ripping though his spine as he curls around his knees on the floor.  Dry, hoarse noises get stuck in his chest and only come out through his mouth as desperate gasps for air. 

 

Jesus, he can’t fucking do anything right.  There’s like, another half a page left to be read, and look at this shit.  Came forty-five seconds into it like a god damned teenager.  No.  Not like a teenager.  Jared wouldn’t have done it like this.  He would have been in control.  He would have done that edging thing that Jensen is always reading about but is too weak-willed to pull off.  Jared would have made it to the end of the page. 

 

Speaking of which…

**_You sicko. That’s statutory rape you’re talking about there, my friend._ **

_LOL, not if he’s the one being raped._

**_You sure about that, bro?_ **

_Yeah, and I think there’s something that’s like, if you’re technically a minor, but the adult is less than 4 years older than you, it doesn’t count._

**_How old is Ackles, anyway?_ **

Stop.

 

Just.

 

Wait. 

 

Stop. 

 

This is not—

 

_Hold him down by the neck and fuck him stupid._

_My dick, my tongue, five fingers…_ in Jared’s lovely scrawl.  His long fingers twined around his pen and wrote those filthy, filthy words. 

A strange sense of calm floats through him.  He folds up the letter.  Not that he’s done with it, he’ll use it again tonight, and every night for the foreseeable future, but enough for now.  Any more and it’s too much.  He has to clean up the mess he made on the floor.  He has to give his brain a chance to breathe.  He has to… 

 

He unfolds the letter.  It seems he’s not done after all. 

 

++++++++

 

There is not enough Xanax in the world to hold Jensen together through this, so he goes right for the Clonazepam, even though he vaguely recognizes that if three Xanax won’t work, Clones won’t either and he’s probably flirting with addiction at this point but whatever, he needs to make it through forty five minutes of lecturing on Faulkner and trying very, very hard not to picture Jared kneeling behind him every time he turns his back to the board.  

 

Over the weekend, Jared had gotten himself a pretty, glinting tongue piercing that he cannot stop toying with.  Jensen will not let himself look Jared in the eye, but her can’t take his mind off that little piece of steel, either.  _Especially_ when Jared chooses Dewey Dell’s line, “I feel like a wet seed wild on the hot blind earth” all slyly innocent, tongue glinting around the words. 

 

The seconds drag by.  His heart beats, _statutory rape… statutory rape… statutory rape…_ until the bell rings.  He has to sit down behind his desk before his nerves shake him apart, before his condition becomes apparent to the whole class.  He lets the Padalecki kid (of course the Padalecki kid. _No way_ could he even _think_ the name on a day like this) get almost to the door before he calls out, voice struggling to form the words,  “Mr. Padalecki, will you please stay after class a moment?”

Jared turns slowly, a smile half-cocked like a hand gun, and licks his lips. 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
